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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25137385">#boyinthebluejumper</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/freelancestargazing/pseuds/freelancestargazing'>freelancestargazing</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Awesome Gwen (Merlin), M/M, Strangers to Lovers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 11:08:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,718</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25137385</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/freelancestargazing/pseuds/freelancestargazing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone rounds the corner, stepping from kitchen to living room, wearing slim jeans and a white shirt, both of which are now stained with red wine. The someone is tall and fit and unbelievably familiar, shiny golden hair mussed up fashionably and pretty pink lips set in a delectable scowl.</p><p>Holy fucking shit, Merlin thinks, it’s him. </p><p>“It’s you!” Arthur gasps rather theatrically, pointing at Merlin as though everyone in the room doesn’t already know who he’s talking about. </p><p> </p><p>Or: Merlin gets his own hashtag on Twitter. Don't ask him how, he doesn't know. All he knows is that Arthur is out of his league, and Gwen is the best friend in the universe.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gwen &amp; Merlin (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>77</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>629</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>#boyinthebluejumper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> Arthur Pendragon<br/>
</em> <em> @apd_official<br/>
</em> <em> ATTENTION TWITTER i need your help. i’m looking for a man, dark hair and glasses and a very blue jumper. was reading a massive book at the bakehouse on main st on saturday. he’s gorgeous and i need to know him.  </em></p><p>Merlin reads the text off Gwen’s phone, shoved excitedly under his nose only a moment ago. He’s not entirely sure why he should care, but Gwen is impossible to refuse even when not doing her bouncy puppy-dog-eyes thing. He looks over at his friend, shaking his head a bit, unable to figure out what she wants. </p><p>Gwen gives a long-suffering sigh, the kind she makes when she thinks Merlin is being deliberately obtuse. “He’s looking for <em> you</em>, idiot.” </p><p>“What?” Merlin laughs disbelievingly, but Gwen’s insistent stare turns it into a cough. “What makes you think it’s me?” </p><p>They’re sitting at the kitchen island of their shared flat—shared between Merlin, Gwen, Lance, and Freya—where they had been having a wonderfully normal discussion about their uni classes for that semester, when Merlin had accidentally mentioned the loss of his crush because of timetable differences, making Gwen jump up excitedly and pull out her phone to show him the tweet. Captain of the Camelot Knights football team, Arthur Pendragon, posted on his official Twitter account looking for some random bloke—Merlin still can’t fathom why he should care. </p><p>“Because we were there!” Gwen exclaims. “At the Bakehouse on Saturday, you and Lance and I, we had coffee but then Lance and I had to run for that open house, and you said you wanted to stay and read, and you had that big old novel, and you were wearing a blue jumper, and I just know that he’s talking about you! I mean, honestly, Merlin, it’s a picture-perfect description of you.” </p><p>Well, she isn’t exactly wrong, Merlin has to admit. It does describe him, and probably thousands of other men in the city. He says as much, but Gwen just rolls her eyes. </p><p>“Don’t be dense, Merlin, it doesn’t suit you,” and really, Merlin thinks, Gwen spends far too much time with Morgana, she’s usually much nicer than this, “and besides, why can’t it be you? Do you know how many other gay men would jump at the opportunity to date Arthur Pendragon? Do you understand how many will be doing exactly that?” </p><p>“I do actually, and I doubt the bloke needs any more attention than this will give him.” </p><p>“You think it’s just a grab for attention?” </p><p>“Of course it is.” Merlin looks back at the phone, reads the tweet and the number of retweets, which he knows is increasing even if the page hasn’t reloaded them, and the small picture which looks like a promotional shot of Arthur on field in his football gear. Just another celebrity not popular enough for their liking. Merlin thinks the whole thing is ridiculous. </p><p>He says this too, but this time Gwen pouts. “So, you won’t do anything about it? Not even message him, saying it’s you but you aren’t interested?” </p><p>“No, I won’t,” Merlin says, moving around the island to escape back to his room so Gwen can’t needle him anymore. “And besides, I don’t even have Twitter.” </p><p>It doesn’t take long for Merlin to discover that his not having Twitter in no way removes him from the situation, especially when Gwen, and later Lance and Freya, insist on keeping him updated. He learns that, not only is Arthur turning down every single <em>omg this was me!!!</em> tweet and message he receives (which convinces Gwen it’s Merlin he’s looking for, and convinces Merlin the whole thing really is an attention grab) but Merlin gets his own hashtag. #boyinthebluejumper quickly becomes a trending tagline—he tries not to be insulted by the thousands on the internet collectively calling him ‘boy’—with people pointing out random guys who match the description in various locations around Camelot. </p><p>Arthur doesn’t make any more tweets about it, but he’s clearly staying updated judging by what he likes and retweets (and no, Merlin is not following Arthur’s movements, he <em> doesn’t have Twitter</em>, and is definitely not the kind of friend to steal Gwen’s laptop to check up on the situation when she’s not looking). </p><p>Despite his insistence that it isn't him, Merlin has to admit (internally, to no one but himself) that <em>it could be</em>. He finds himself wary about going out, because if someone does catch him, and maybe gets a photo, which has happened to a few other unfortunate blokes, then his face will be all over the internet and Arthur will definitely find him (if it is him), and Merlin isn’t sure he wants that. </p><p>Sure, Arthur’s a good looking guy, and a career in football has definitely made him fit as all hell, but he’s also rich, and comes from a well-off family, and is probably kind of posh, and from what Merlin gathers from watching a dozen of interviews with the man online (<em>okay</em>, so maybe he’s <em> kind of </em> following him, but it’s only so he isn’t caught by surprise again) Arthur is smart and kind and genuinely good. And Merlin is just a poor scholarship student studying books and words for fun. He stocks shelves in a grocery store, his only form of exercise is the walk to the bus station, and pot noodles are a staple in his life. He’s hardly a shining star, when compared to the fucking captain of the fucking city football team. </p><p>Alright. Maybe he’s a little bitter too. </p><p>But in Merlin’s experience, footballers are bad news. They were his childhood bullies, they were his teenage nightmares, and now they’re apparently using Twitter to hunt him like a deer. He knows it can’t end well, knows there is going to be tears and humiliation and horrific levels of embarrassment, so he would really rather just stay out of it. </p><p>Obviously, fate has other plans. </p><p>Merlin certainly didn’t mean to get caught, but it had been almost five weeks since the Saturday incident, and things seemed to be calming down. #boyinthebluejumper was no longer in the trending list, there had been no new photographs up, and he wasn’t even wearing blue today. His jumper was a deep purple colour, one that Gwen had given him because “it makes you look all mysterious and dashing!” He was at the library, studying, and wasn’t aware someone was watching him until he heard the tell-tale click of a phone camera. When he looked up, the girl a few tables down was blushing and gathering her things, clearly intent on running before he could say anything. The only reason she managed, Merlin protests later when Gwen is laughing instead of helping, is because he was too shocked to move. </p><p>The very next day, Merlin is woken up by Gwen jumping on his bed and shoving her phone at him again, with some undignified squealing and shouting that he can’t understand while still half-asleep. He grabs his glasses and takes the phone, ignoring the way his pulse speeds up in anticipation. </p><p><em> Arthur Pendragon<br/>
</em> <em> @apd_official<br/>
</em> <em> THATS HIM YOU FOUND HIM WHERE DID YOU FIND HIM??? </em></p><p>Gwen is saying something about destiny and soulmates, but Merlin can’t stop thinking about how… <em> excited </em>Arthur seems. You can’t really know these things over the internet, though, but Merlin’s heart doesn’t seem to care about that. </p><p>There’s a thread following the tweet between the photographer and Arthur, discussing how the girl caught Merlin in Camelot City Library, with ‘<em>so many books, and his laptop, so probs a student at uoc </em> ’ and ‘<em>i think i saw some shakespeare??? so maybe english lit? </em> ’ and Arthur’s reply of ‘<em>christ, he’s an adorable nerd, this is too much </em>’. Too much? What does that mean? Does Arthur like that Merlin is a nerd, or is that where he draws the line? What would he say if he knew Merlin knew fuck all about football and only ever watched it because Lance made him? </p><p>His bed is bouncing again, so Merlin tries to focus on Gwen, but his head seems to be spiralling into many an anxious thought about Arthur’s true intentions. For fuck’s sake, he tells himself angrily, I thought we weren’t going to get involved. </p><p>“Merlin!” Gwen shouts, smacking her hands to his cheeks with unnecessary force. Merlin tries to pull away from her grip, but she holds him steady. “You need to breathe Merlin,” she’s saying, and taking comically deep breaths, “in and out, just like I am, okay? In and out.” </p><p>Well this is just embarrassing, Merlin thinks as he copies Gwen’s breathing. In and out, in and out. Having an anxiety attack over a guy you don’t even know. What rubbish. </p><p>When Merlin has recovered enough to duck away from Gwen, he does, rolling over to bury himself back beneath the blankets. There’s a moment of silence from Gwen, and then he feels her lying beside him, hand rubbing his shoulder, and her soft voice saying “I’m sorry Merlin, I didn’t mean to make you panic. If you really don’t want to find Arthur, I can let him know, okay? I’m sure he’ll understand.” </p><p>Merlin shrugs to avoid giving a real answer, and Gwen must accept it, because she soon leaves him to wallow. Well, not really, she makes it clear that she’s making him breakfast, and that he has to get up if he wants Nutella pancakes, which really isn’t fair because Gwen knows how much he loves Nutella pancakes. Gwen also knows that Merlin hates people seeing him anxious, and that Merlin’s last experience with a footballer ended badly, and so is being needlessly kind to make up for the weeks of teasing. </p><p>The problem is that Merlin isn’t sure he doesn’t want Arthur to find him. Does the idea of meeting Arthur make him anxious? Obviously. Does the idea of Arthur rejecting him hurt like hell, despite them barely knowing each other? Absolutely. </p><p>Does the idea of meeting Arthur and them hitting it off immediately and getting to swan dive into epic romance make Merlin’s heart swell and his stomach fill with the best kind of butterflies? It does. It really, really does. </p><p>It’s this last thought (and the smell of Gwen’s pancakes — she’s one hell of a cook) that makes him pull himself from bed, get dressed (in the blue jumper, even) and announce as he wanders into the kitchen “I want to find Arthur.” </p><p>Gwen looks up from the stove, startled. “Are you sure? You aren’t just doing this because I’ve been pestering you? Because I meant what I said.” </p><p>“I know you did,” Merlin reassures her, “and I’m absolutely positive. I’m ready for this.” </p><p>That may have been an overstatement. </p><p>Merlin has a plan, though, a plan that is maybe a little devious and a little bit unfair but should give him plenty of time to psych himself up to meeting Arthur: he makes a Twitter account. </p><p>
  <em> Are You Even Looking?</em><br/>
<em> @boyinthebluejumper</em><br/>
<em>Yes, I like books. Yes, I am an English Lit. student at UoC. I enjoy walking through the city and visiting different coffee shops. Apparently, you’ve seen me, but I haven’t seen you. Are you still looking? </em>
</p><p>He proceeds to spend his spare time wandering the city, visiting different coffee shops, and bookstores, and the museum that his uncle owns, and taking his picture at every location. He even makes it to the Knights training ground, where they are coaching the primary-age football teams. He makes sure to take a picture with Arthur in the background, back turned, and laughs when it makes Arthur go nearly ballistic. </p><p>It is surprisingly entertaining, riling the captain up, and although he denies it, he’s enjoying the attention. He builds a fairly steady following, and even finds himself posting things that have nothing to do with his and Arthur’s game, book recommendations and study complaints, the usual things people put on Twitter. There’s one very embarrassing night where he has to pull an all-nighter for an essay he almost forgot about, and discovers he gets very chatty online when he’s overtired and over-caffeinated. He wants to delete the posts but ends up re-reading all of Arthur’s adorable and encouraging messages whenever he’s upset. He doesn’t tell Gwen about that, though. </p><p>Before he quite realises it, another three weeks have gone by, Arthur still hasn’t managed to find Merlin, and Merlin still hasn’t worked up the courage to make it easy for him. His friends, although initially very encouraging, keep making pointed remarks about coffee dates and football training and Arthur giving up because he thinks Merlin is just toying with him. </p><p>That last comment comes from Elena, Freya’s girlfriend, usually a very sweet girl but also very impulsive and extroverted—not really the kind of person to understand Merlin’s plight at all. Gwen is the only one who seems to truly understand, and even she makes a point to tell Merlin that he should make a decision. </p><p>“It’s hard, though,” he says, resolutely not pouting, “and I’m worried. What if he doesn’t like me?” </p><p>Once again, fate steps in for him, although he doesn’t realise it until it’s much too late. </p><p>Gwen is forcing him to attend a party of Morgana’s instead of going to the museum, which was his plan for the afternoon. He enjoys sitting at the cafe to study and knows that Arthur would probably be expecting another picture soon, but Gwen shakes her head and puts on her Mum voice. </p><p>“Merlin Emrys, you <em> will </em> attend this party, you <em> will </em> spend more time with your friends, and you <em> will </em> let loose enough to realise that Arthur would be a fool not to like you. You <em> will </em> be having fun, or you will <em> not </em>be getting more pancakes.” </p><p>(Bloody hell Gwen, why do you keep hanging out with Morgana? Threats are her thing, not yours!) </p><p>And so, Merlin finds himself standing on Morgana’s doorstep, with Gwen beside him ringing the doorbell. Merlin has the sleeves of his jumper—red today, a nice ruby shade—pulled over his hands and is fiddling with a loose thread out of Gwen’s line of sight. She sees anyway, pulling his hands away and giving him an encouraging smile. </p><p>“It’s just a small party with friends, Merlin,” she says, not unkindly. </p><p>“And Morgana,” Merlin hisses. </p><p>Despite Gwen being friends with Morgana for almost a year now (the two met through their work placements at Gorlois Engineering, Gwen in development and Morgana in management), Merlin has never managed to shake the fear he feels in the other woman’s presence. And what a presence she has. Even opening the door for a ‘small party with friends’, Morgana is dressed to the nines in a sleek, dark dress and shoes that could only be describes as ‘killer’. Her lipstick looks sharp, her eyeliner sharper, and although her smile is warm as she lets them in, there is always something a bit devious in her eyes. </p><p>It seems worse today, as she greets Gwen with a hug and gives Merlin an assessing once-over, like she’s looking for something. Merlin swallows tightly, and Morgana’s eyes snap to his. Then she smiles, as if satisfied by what she sees, and gives him a hug too. </p><p>“So glad you could make it,” she says, and Merlin gets the feeling she’s addressing him directly. He opens his mouth to respond, but there’s a shout from inside the house, the sound of glass shattering, and a distressed and distinctly feline yowl. </p><p>“Morgana!” Someone yells angrily, clearly the shouter. </p><p>Gwen and Merlin exchange an alarmed look, but Morgana just scowls, rolling her eyes. “Yes, cousin dear?” She calls back, falsely sweet. </p><p>“Do you ever plan to train that cow you call a cat how <em> not </em> to trip people when they’re carrying drinks, specifically how not to trip <em> me</em>?” </p><p>The someone rounds the corner, stepping from kitchen to living room, wearing slim jeans and a white shirt, both of which are now stained with red wine. The someone is tall and fit and unbelievably familiar, shiny golden hair mussed up fashionably and pretty pink lips set in a delectable scowl. </p><p>Holy fucking shit, Merlin thinks, it’s him. </p><p>“It’s you!” Arthur gasps rather theatrically, pointing at Merlin as though everyone in the room doesn’t already know who he’s talking about. </p><p>For his part, Merlin’s mouth drops open as he stares at Arthur uncomprehendingly. “Who?” he finally stutters, and immediately wants to smack himself. </p><p>“Blue!” Arthur says, still pointing. </p><p>Merlin tugs on his jumper self-consciously, absently muttering “Actually it’s red, today.” </p><p>He feels Gwen smack his shoulder, hears Morgana heave a sigh, and watches Arthur’s face flush. Merlin almost feels bad, except this is the last place he would have wanted to run into Arthur for the first time and he feels very wrong-footed. Their very first conversation, and Arthur is soaked with wine, Merlin is being an idiot, and Gwen and Morgana are witnessing the whole thing. </p><p>This is definitely not how he wanted it. </p><p>Bless Gwen and her patience and understanding. The part of Merlin’s brain that’s still functioning makes a solemn promise to bake her cookies or something as he watches her drag Morgana from the room, saying something about giving the two of them time to sort their shit out. That doesn’t stop a tense silence from settling as soon as they’re gone. </p><p>Arthur breaks it first, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck nervously before glancing at Merlin. “It is you, isn’t it?” He asks. “Blue?” </p><p>“My name’s Merlin, but I have been known to wear blue. There was this really funny thing going around online, actually, with me in a blue jumper, I think you might have seen it?” Oh God, why doesn’t he know how to <em> just shut up</em>? </p><p>But Arthur just laughs, a stunned barked laugh that seems to surprise him as much as it does Merlin. “I was starting to think you didn’t actually want me to find you,” Arthur says, grinning with relief. </p><p>“I didn’t,” Merlin says, <em> fucking hell Emrys what’s wrong with you</em>, and as Arthur’s face falls into a kicked-puppy look Merlin rushes to add, “I was so fucking terrified you wouldn’t actually like me once you met me that I made it purposely difficult for you, and I’m really sorry I led you on a chase around the city, I mean maybe you didn’t actually chase after me, but it kinda seems like you have been so I’m really sorry again, for doing that—” </p><p>“What made you think I wouldn’t like you?” Arthur interrupts. </p><p>Merlin stops, stammers “Uh, I don’t, I didn’t,” and then makes the wise decision to just stop talking. </p><p>Arthur cocks his head, no longer looking like a kicked puppy but still a bit sad. He steps forward cautiously, smelling like alcohol and only faintly of cologne, and Merlin finds himself drawn forward too. “I don’t know why you thought I wouldn’t like you,” Arthur says softly, blue eyes earnest on Merlin, “but I can assure you that I do. I like you very much.” </p><p>“You barely know me,” Merlin says, watching as Arthur’s hair falls across his forehead and fighting the sudden urge to brush it away. This is ridiculous, to be feeling like this over someone he barely knows. But he <em>does</em> know Arthur, he realises. Maybe most of what he knows he learned from watching his interviews or reading exclusive articles, but he also knows that Arthur watches true crime documentaries for fun, and that he’s a black belt in MMA, and that he’s on a mission to find every Italian restaurant in the city and try every single one of them, and that he and his father very pointedly <em>do</em> <em>not</em> follow each other on any social media platform they might share. </p><p>“I do know you, Merlin,” Arthur says, and Merlin laughs at how they seem to echo each other, but Arthur must take it as disbelief because he grabs Merlin’s upper arms and shakes him with surprising gentleness. “I know you like books, and that you buy way more than you should, and you only ever drink cappuccinos with almond milk because you’re lactose intolerant, and you love your classes even though you complain about them all the bloody time, and you’re blind as a bat, and absolutely adorable when you’re tired.” Arthur leans forward until his head is almost touching Merlin’s, nose brushing the frame of Merlin’s glasses, and says in a whisper “Do you know why I was so desperate to find you?” </p><p>Merlin swallows, shakes his head, not daring to speak in case he ruins the moment again. Arthur’s thumbs are rubbing gentle circles on Merlin’s arms, the feeling striking even through the layer of Merlin’s jumper, and he can’t quite catch his breath. </p><p>“I’ll admit, it was definitely because I think you’re beautiful,” and this really isn’t helping Merlin’s breathing situation, hearing Arthur call him <em> beautiful </em> with his voice low and soft like this, “but it was mostly because of the book you were reading. <em> The Dream Merchant</em>?” </p><p>“You know <em> The Dream Merchant</em>?” Merlin asks, pulling away a little in surprise. His voice is too loud, cuts through the moment like a knife through paper, and he wishes he could take it back. </p><p>But Arthur smiles at him, looking sad and a little… <em> shy</em>. “Yeah, it—it was my mum’s favourite.” </p><p>Merlin sucks in a breath, an apology caught in his throat. Everyone in Camelot knows how Ygraine Pendragon died shortly after giving birth to Arthur, causing Arthur’s father and ex-mayor of Camelot Uther to turn into a robotic version of himself. Having also lost a parent when he was young, Merlin knows that apologies are rather pointless, but he feels he needs to say <em> something</em>. “I inherited my book from my mum too,” he says, and Arthur’s smile brightens. </p><p>“It’s also the biggest novel I’ve ever read, and one of few I’ve actually completed. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy reading, but I was always too busy for it in high school, even more so these days.” </p><p>Arthur is a secret bookworm. No, Merlin is <em> not </em>swooning. </p><p>“Anyway, that was why I wanted to find you,” Arthur continues with a shy shrug. “Because you were reading my favourite novel, and I didn’t know anyone else had ever heard of it.” </p><p>“It wasn’t anything you said or did that made me think you might not like me,” Merlin finally admits quietly. His gaze is firmly on Arthur’s hands as they slide down to circle Merlin’s wrists, loose and intimate, sending a shiver through Merlin’s body. “All things considered, it should be more surprising if you didn’t. But I worry needlessly about these things, I get awful gut feelings of impending doom, and I dated a football player a year or so ago, and he was a bit of a dick, not that that necessarily means <em> you’re </em> a dick—”</p><p>“Merlin,” Arthur says, still quiet but stern, accompanied by a light tug on Merlin’s left wrist. </p><p>“—and there was something telling me that things were going to fall apart the second we met, but it’s not like I want this to fall apart, I’ve grown to quite like you, not that it’s your fault, it isn’t, I promise—” </p><p>“Merlin.” </p><p>“Sorry, I don’t mean to ramble, I just—” </p><p>“<em>Mer</em>lin,” Arthur says again, and places a light kiss on Merlin’s lips. </p><p>It’s barely a brush, a feather against his skin, before Arthur pulls away, wide-eyed and apologetic. He looks ready to bolt, drawing his shoulders up, hands pulling away from Merlin, and Merlin is once again seized with that feeling of impending doom. This time, however, he knows exactly how to fix it. </p><p>He surges forward, his now-free hands cupping Arthur’s face and drawing him into a proper kiss. Their mouths are closed, but it still feels heated, and the feeling only increases when Arthur grabs Merlin’s hips, eagerly pressing them together until it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. Merlin can feel Arthur’s tongue at the seam of his lips, not pressing or demanding entry, just a reminder that he’s there if Merlin wants. </p><p>Christ, how Merlin <em> wants</em>. </p><p>He doesn’t want to rush though, so he eases back, lets Arthur pepper more closed-mouth kisses against his cheeks and jaw instead, enjoying their closeness, the slight tickle of Arthur’s barely-there stubble. If someone had told him, way back when he first found out Arthur was looking for him, that he’d end up kissing the man upon their first meeting, he’d have told them they’d been reading way too many romance novels. </p><p>Their bubble is broken by an increase in the chatter outside, and Merlin feels his pulse spike at the sound. Arthur must feel it too, because he pulls back, but only far enough to rest his head against Merlin’s properly this time, his breaths fogging the lenses of Merlin’s glasses and making Merlin giggle breathlessly. Arthur is much too close for Merlin to see him properly, but he can see the light freckles on his face, the curve of his collarbone beneath his shirt. His wine-stained shirt that is currently pressed against Merlin’s jumper, although Merlin finds he doesn’t actually care. If they both end up smelling like a liquor store, then that’s alright with him. It’ll be further proof that this really happened and wasn’t a dream. </p><p>“This feels like a dream,” Arthur mumbles absently, and Merlin smothers another round of giggles at that. Maybe Gwen wasn’t entirely wrong about destiny. </p><p>Merlin isn’t sure how long they’ve been standing there, just the two of them in Morgana’s living room, but the voices outside are a reminder that he actually came to this party to hang out with his friends, and he promised Gwen that he’d make an effort this time. Reluctantly he pulls back from Arthur, but when the man pouts Merlin quickly kisses him again, short and sweet. </p><p>They seem to be in agreement, even without speaking, as they detach all but their hands, keeping firm grips on each other as they wander through the kitchen and to the patio, to be greeted by cheers and wolf-whistles. </p><p>“It’s about fucking time,” a tall man with red curls laughs, punching Arthur on the shoulder as they walk past. Arthur feigns anger, but he can’t quite stop his grin as he shoves his friend. </p><p>Gwen and Lance are sitting next to each other on a large armchair, and both of them give Merlin matching knowing smiles as he and Arthur sit across from them. Merlin rolls his eyes, feeling his cheeks flush, but the slight squeeze of Arthur’s hand settles him enough to return the smile. </p><p>As Lance launches into an enthusiastic conversation with Arthur about the Knights’ upcoming game, Merlin leans over to Gwen to ask “Did you know? Did you know that Morgana and Arthur were—” </p><p>“No!” Gwen protests, voice hushed. “No, of course not, Merlin. I mean I knew Morgana had a cousin named Arthur and that he was into sports, but they have different last names, and we didn’t exactly talk about Arthur very often. I only realised when she mentioned her cousin was pining over some dark haired guy he hadn’t even met before, and then I mentioned you and your hashtag and she told me that that was her cousin, and we realised that it was the two of you, and I know I said I’d help you and let you have your time, but Morgana is very persistent and was adamant she would murder Arthur if she had to put up with him much longer, and I didn’t think you’d appreciate that.” </p><p>Merlin looks at his friend, who looks almost ashamed, but also hurt by Merlin’s suggestion (or, rather, by what she thought he was suggesting, since that’s not where he’d been going with it at all). “Thanks Gwen.” </p><p>Gwen looks taken aback. “Really?” </p><p>“Yeah. You’re the best friend anyone could ask for.” </p><p>Gwen grins in relief, and Merlin smiles back. His feeling of impending doom has receded almost completely, and as Arthur tugs Merlin gently into his side to press a light kiss to his temple, he thinks that maybe, for once, everything will work out okay. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>a) The Dream Merchant by Isabel Hoving. Great book, very long and a bit strange, but I've always enjoyed it. </p><p>Hi! Thank you for reading my fic! I'm honestly not sure how I feel about this one; I've always liked it, but I wasn't sure it was really right, but I really wanted to post it, so... let me know what you think? (Or don't, no pressure.)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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